PORCO ROSSO: the missing act
by NeonGensis
Summary: This is about Gina, the owner of a popular cabaret in the Mediterrannean. She waits patiently for Marco to tell her he loves her. It is set after the movie ends, where we presume he had changed back to his human form (the movie never says)
1. Chapter 1

This story in particular is special to me, because it is based on one of my favorite movies, "Porco Rosso." The movie is about ace pilot Marco Rosso in presumably just before World War I, who was mysteriously changed so that he had the face of a pig. The story here, however, is about Gina, the proprietor of a popular cabaret in the middle of Mediterrannean. His last childhood friend, she waits patiently for him to tell her he loves her. It is set after the movie ends, where we presume he had changed back to his human form (the movie never says). I highly recommend this film to anyone, regardless of age or whether they like cartoons or not,. If you start reading this short story, please finish it! It's longer than my usual stories, but hopefully you'll gain something from it.  
  
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Gina was a torch singer and owner of a piano bar on a private island not far off from Sicily. Despite the skirmishes going on on all sides (the radios and newspapers all had been calling it a "World War"-- how strange, Gina thought as she recalled her diverse and eclectic patrons), customers still flocked to the tiny cabaret in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. Truthfully, her private home-turned-enterprise was situated on little more than a large rock jutting out of the sea, rather than a full island (as it technically was), but to her many regulars, Gina's Place was so much more.  
  
Air pirates drank from their wines and cheap liquors literally tables away from the fighter dogpilots who usually took them in for bounty. Wealthy but anonymous playboys and couples took up the majority of the seating in the tiny but cozy lounge, and the quartet of dubious but harmless Mafiosos never failed to appear at their reserved table in the corner, just before Gina came out for her first round of songs each night. It was true that many were admirers whose hearts would all inevitably be broken, as well as that just as many simply liked her sonorous alto voice. But by far, people came here to forget the rest of the world and its troubles. No fighting was allowed anywhere on the premises or else Gina herself would see you out the door (she had thus far proven her word on this at least three times, and no one ever wanted to be banished from Gina's Place). Here, war-weary people came to forget their past and their present. Here they found refuge and a haven for the nights, a temporary Elysium.  
  
Gina put on her earrings, large but simple golden orbs dangling from deceptively thin chains, one at a time and then looked herself over one last time in the mirror. Her short dark brown hair was plastered against her head, combed in undulating waves from the left to the right. Curly locks pressed close to her cheeks by her ears, framing a narrow oval face. Her light cornflower eyeshadow perfectly accented her unusual purple "smiling" eyes (Gina had no idea what this term meant; it had been ages since she last felt like smiling). Pale patches of rouge adorned her almost gaunt cheeks, the same color as her thin glossed lips.  
  
She nodded approvingly at what she saw, but adjusted the spaghetti-thin straps of her sparkling purple flapper's dress. Gina thought they exposed too much of her bare shoulders and lean lanky limbs although it really didn't, so she added a gauzy lavender scarf around her neck. Completely satisfied, she stood and walked through the dressing room door. She turned off all the lights before she left, and closed and locked the door after her.  
  
Not far down the hallway, she came across a young man, struggling with a black silk bowtie as he peered into an oval mirror hanging from the wall. Except for the bowtie, he was impeccably dressed in a brilliant white shirt and matching black vest and pants. Spotting her, he stopped and gaped, color flushing into his cheeks. Gina smiled genuinely at him, despite his misplaced childish crush on her. He ran a hand through slicked-back black hair and grinned sheepishly at her. "Evening, Miss Gina," he said, "Full house tonight, or so says Julius at the door. Nervous about singing?"  
  
"Rodolfo, what a silly idea," Gina said to him. She took the bowtie from his hands and suppressed a smile as she felt and saw his body tense. Despite being an Italian, if he could not stand being in such close proximity to a woman, he would only be an average lover at best. Not that she would take him-- or almost any other, for that matter-- as a lover. "What on earth makes you think a little crowded room could make me nervous? You know I've been singing for almost ten years now...."  
  
"Back when your father owned the place, yes. I know," he finished for her as she quickly and methodically did his bowtie. "Everyone within thirty kilometers knows. They all love you, you know. I still can't believe I'm working for the legendary Miss Gina. I also can't believe that the great fighter pilot Marco is often seen here, too--"  
  
"Finished," Gina interrupted him, putting on the final touches on the bow. She straightened his lapels and patted him in an almost motherly manner on the cheek. "Flattery will get you nowhere. And everywhere, child." "Rodolfo, please help Carmine over in the kitchens; I understand he's terribly short tonight on help. That's a dear," she said, not waiting for his reply.  
  
Questioning and confused looks fought over his face, but he nodded quickly enough. "Yes, Miss Gina," he said, and walked down an alternate corridor leading towards the kitchens. Gina watched him for a moment until he stopped and turned around and asked, "About Mister Marco, Miss Gina. We haven't seen him in here for several days."  
  
Gina understood the unasked question that hung in the awkward silence that followed. "He's alright," she said after a moment. She wasn't sure that was true, but perhaps she said it more for herself than for her overly curious employee. You could never be sure with fighter pilots. "I haven't heard from him either in several days, but he'll surface when he feels like it. He's stubborn like that."  
  
Rodolfo nodded, satisfied, and continued down the hallway toward the kitchens.  
  
Gina shivered as he turned around a corner and disappeared. Marco, she thought, where in God's name are you? Her hand drifted to the tiny gold cross that hung around her neck, as she surveyed the crowd.  
  
The lounge area was indeed packed tonight, as Rodolfo had said. The dogfighters and pirates were all accounted for, even the four mobsters in the corner, although that was no surprise. All of the stools by the bar were occupied as well, and a handful of people had taken to merely standing against the wall to drink or listen to her sing. Or possibly both. Everyone was being civil to each other, respecting the sanctuary she'd provided or were merely afraid to break it. Candlelights flickered at each table, giving the strange sensation of performing before a field of fireflies. Antonio played on the piano, loud enough to lend to the atmosphere and be appreciated, but quietly enough to remain in the background.  
Gina nodded to Antonio as she stepped out and then to her patrons. Many of them pounded on the tableclothed counters and whistled; those would be her regular admirers, she thought. Others shushed the crowd in eager anticipation and the rest clapped enthusiastically.  
  
"Good evening," she greeted, and waved to the devoted crowd.   
  
A chorus of "Good evening, Gina!" answered her back, and she laughed.  
  
"Thank you so much for making it out here tonight," she said. "For my first song, I would like to sing something a friend taught me a long time ago." Gina stepped off the low stage and nodded to Antonio, who played a somber melody on the piano. As she walked among her patrons, she sang her song:  
  
  
  
Quand nous chanterons le temps des cerises,  
les gais rossignols et merles moqueurs seront tous en f\^ete,  
les belles auront la folie en t\^ete  
et les amoureux, du soleil au coeur.  
Quand nous chanterons le temps des cerises,  
sifflera bien mieux le merle moqueur.  
  
  
When we sing of the time of cherries,  
gay nightingales and mocking blackbirds will celebrate,  
pretty girls will have folly in their heads,  
and lovers, sunshine in their hearts.  
When we sing of the time of cherries,  
the mocking blackbird will sing better.  
Mais il est bien court le temps des cerises,  
o\`u l'on s'en va de cueillir en revant des pendants d'oreilles,  
cerises d'amour aux robes pareilles  
tombant sous la feuille en gouttes de sang.  
Mais il est bien court le temps des cerises,  
pendants de corail qu'on cueille en revant.  
  
  
But it is very short, the time of cherries,  
where some go to gather earrings* in a dream,  
cherries of love in similar gowns**  
falling beneath the leaves like drops of blood.  
But it is very short, the time of cherries,  
coral pendants which one gathers in a dream.  
[Quand vous en serez au temps des cerises  
si vous avez peur des chagrins d'amour, evitez les belles.]  
Moi qui ne crains pas les peines cruelles,  
je ne vivrai point sans souffrir un jour.  
Quand vous en serez au temps des cerises  
vous aurez aussi des peines d'amour.  
  
  
[When you are in the time of cherries,  
if you fear the sorrows of love, avoid the pretty girls.]  
I, who do not fear the cruel distress,  
I will never live a day without suffering.  
When you are in the time of cherries,  
you will also have the distresses of love.  
J'aimerai toujours le temps des cerises,  
c'est de ce temps-l\`a que je garde au coeur une plaie ouverte,  
et Dame fortune en m'\'etant offerte  
ne pourra jamais calmer ma douleur.  
J'aimerai toujours le temps des cerises,  
et le souvenir que je garde au coeur.  
  
  
I will always love the time of cherries,  
it's from those times that I hold in my heart an open wound,  
and the offerings of lady luck  
can never soothe my suffering.  
I will always love the time of cherries,  
and the memory I hold in my heart.  
  
When Gina finished, the crowd stared at her silently, transfixed. Gina sucked her breath in nervously, and wondered what had happened. Then, slowly, one person began to clap; it was one of the Air Pirates. Then another, and then another two, and soon everyone was clapping wildly for her. Several people (newcomers, she noted, for she knew every one of her regulars) even stood and gave her a standing ovation, although the majority of the audience was content in banging on their tables for more. Gina smiled and nodded at them all.   
  
Suddenly, Rodolfo was at her side. Looking around the applauding room nervously, he leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear. "There's, ah, um, a gentleman looking for you," he said.  
  
"Can't it wait? I just started my first rounds," Gina replied in another whisper, somewhat annoyed at the gall of the mysterious patron. Admirers usually at least waited till her first set was done before attempting to woo her, for whatever reasons. He must be new, she thought to herself.  
  
"He said it couldn't. He said you knew him, and to give you this." Almost magically, he produced a large brown envelope and handed it to Gina. They could both feel the audience quiet down expectantly around them, most curious as to what was being said in the whispered conversation and, more importantly, just what was in the envelope.  
  
"Oh, very well." Gina took it from Rodolfo and tore the package open. As she peered inside, the audience collectively held their breath and seemed to lean forward in their seats, trying to get a glimpse at what she was holding without actually moving from their spots. Gina's eyes widened momentarily, and handed the envelope back to the young man.  
  
"Tell the gentleman to please wait for two more songs," she whispered to him, "then put this in my dressing room. Be careful with it!  
  
"I'm very sorry," she said, this time to the audience aloud. "For being interrupted. For my next song...."  
  



	2. Chapter 2

At the bar, a wide-shouldered man with a slicked moustache watched Gina as he waited for his drink. She had changed a lot in the last few years. So had he, but that wasn't too important right now. He drummed his fingers on the bar and nodded to the opening melody of her next song. The young man-- Rodolfo was his name, wasn't it?-- had given her his message, but she apparently thought he had time to spare. It was only fair, he thought, for him making her wait all these years.   
  
Several of the other patrons had stared at him from their tables when Rodolfo came back awkwardly and relayed her reply. He ignored them. Even the cocky sumbitches of Air Pirates. If any of them realized who he was, then they would know to leave well enough alone. If not, well, he could shoot them out of the air if it came to that.  
  
Grimacing, he pulled out some cigarettes, and cupping his hands around the flame of the matchstick, lit one up. He puffed on it a few times then exhaled slowly, letting twin tendrils of white vapor shoot from his nose. The first seconds of flavor always did taste best.  
  
"She's a beaut, ain't she," said a voice from behind.  
  
Slowly, Marco turned and regarded the massive boss of the Air Pirates. He was a huge man, well over two heads taller than Marco himself, and a thick bushy beard that covered his squared jaw. Marco almost didn't recognize him; he'd never seen him without his aviator goggles, which were now dangling around his neck. "Yeah," he said flatly.  
  
"I never thought I'd see you here again, pig. You've got some nerve, you know?" he said.  
  
Marco nodded, then exhaled a plume of smoke into the air. Although he hadn't directed it towards the massive Air Pirate behind him, he grinned when he heard him try to stifle a cough or two. "Leave me alone, Lombardo, if you know what's good for you." He turned back to the bar and picked up his two drinks, tipped the bartender heavily, then regarded the Air Pirate with a flat level stare.   
  
Despite his towering size, Lombardo quivered under Marco's icy gaze. "What, pig? You wanna make a fight out of it?" He put up his dukes and took a step back into an appropriate boxing stance.  
  
Marco chuckled, then moved around the ridiculous-looking man. Several of his flunkies were alternating watching Gina's performance and what was going on at the bar now. All of them easily recognized Marco, and decided that it was best to leave their boss to fend for himself. "And be banished from Gina's Place? I don't think so, you stinking Fascist. Now if you've got nothing else to say...."  
  
Lombardo froze. Gina would surely ban him if he attempted to fight it out here. Sheepishly, he put his gloved fists down at his sides and sneered at the shorter but formidable man. "Feh. I got nothing to say to you, pig. Not here, in any case. You just be careful. There's a bounty on your head, you know. Straight from the new regime itself."  
  
"I may be a pig, but at least I'm not a Fascist dog. So shut your mouth, Lombardo," Marco said, "Or I shut it for you." Flashing a grin over his shoulder, he carefully carried his two drinks over to Gina's personal table, and sat down and waited for her.   
  
"Is this seat taken?"  
  
Marco looked up into Gina's sparkling purple eyes and blinked. He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep while waiting for her, and was slouched considerably in his seat. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with pinched fingers, he simply replied, "It's your table."  
  
Gina watched him, waiting, but then sighed and shrugged her shoulders. She pulled the seat out for herself, then sat down across from Marco Rosso, infamous bounty hunter and dog fighter of the Mediterranean.  
  
"You've been missing," she said simply. She took a napkin from the setting before her, and carefully placed it on her lap. "It's funny; just earlier one of the staff had asked me where you were the last two weeks. You're quite a hero for them, you know. The ones who remember, in any case."  
  
"That's great. I'm a heroic outlaw," he said dryly. With a smile that never touched his eyes, he handed her her drink. "Here. A Blue Sky Martini with a slice of Spanish Onion for flavor," he said. "Just the way you liked it."  
  
Gina smiled at him, bemused. "I haven't drank that in... Oh, I forget." Taking it from him graciously, she raised it slightly in a silent toast, then raised it to her lips.  
  
"Just the way I liked it," she said, after sipping from it. She set the glass down before her, and looked into his eyes. "Where on earth did you get that photograph you gave me? I never realized you had a copy of it." Her eyes flickered over to a framed photo that hung centered over the table.  
  
Marco followed her gaze and reached up for the photo. He held it in his hands dispassionately for a moment. "I liked the photo," he said. He handed it over to Gina. "It had all of us in it, after all."  
  
Gina sighed as she took the frame from him and stared at it. It was an old photo from her early teenaged years, in black and white, though it was more brown than black. She and Marco were in it, as well as three other young boys their age, standing on or around a makeshift aeroplane that Marco and the boys had put together. The photo was taken directly after their first successful test flight, which explained everyone's messed-up hair. Above heads, Gina had painstakingly calligraphed their names. There was Angelo, who had carried a short courtship just before her 16th birthday, but disappeared somewhere out east nearly a decade ago. There was Michaelli, whom she married just before the fighting had begun, but was felled within two weeks. There was Vino, who married her after that, but was killed by the Secret Police for obscure reasons without having ever consummated. Then there was Marco.   
  
Where Marco's head should have been, was just an impenetrable black scribble that erased his visage. All of the other faces were easily distinguishable, except for Marco's. And all of them had died, or presumably died, except for Gina and Marco. He was all she had left.   
  
"That doesn't explain why your face wasn't blocked out in the copy you gave me," she said finally. The two said nothing for a while, but sipped from their cocktails uneasily and listened to Antonio on the piano.   
  
"No, it doesn't," Marco replied after setting his drink down. "I knew I'd give you my copy eventually, but I didn't know when. I guess now is as good a time as any."  
  
Gina sat up, alarmed. "Why? What's going on?"  
  
"There's a bounty on my head, Gina, in case you didn't realize."  
  
"That doesn't mean anything here. The government usually turns a blind eye when it comes to all the way out here. You're not in trouble, as long as you're here."  
  
Marco nodded. "But how long can I stay here, Gina?"  
  
Gina opened her mouth and was about to say for as long as he wanted, but realized what he was implying. Marco was a pilot, just like their three other friends. Only better. He needed to be out there, to roam around freely, to fly where he wanted. Staying with her would be like a death sentence for him. "For as long as it takes for this to blow over," she said instead.  
  
"That's not going to happen. We've been saying this for the last five years now. It doesn't look like it'll ever blow over, at least for me."  
  
"What do you want then, Marco?"  
  
"I don't know." He leaned on his hand as he looked out the windows of Gina's Place. There was nothing to see out there at this time, of course, except for the flickering light of the mosquito torches outside, reflected in the water. But his eyes seemed to stare beyond that, or into that. Gina recognized that look; his mind was already unwaveringly set, and there was no convincing otherwise. "I'm going to go away for a while."  
  



	3. Chapter 3

"Marco, no!" Gina stood up in alarm, ignoring the other patrons who stared at her and Marco now. "You can't!"  
  
"I gotta do it, Gina."   
  
"But-- but you're all I have left!" Gina bit her lower lip nervously and her body began to shake. "Michaelli, Angelo, Vino-- they're all dead now. You're the last one left! I can't lose you!"  
  
Marco turned towards her and sighed. "You've got all this," he said, with an open hand, indicating all of Gina's Place. "You've got your singing. You've got this," he added, picking up the framed photograph again. "And it'll only be until it all blows over."  
  
"You just said it wouldn't blow over," she quipped. "None of it will; you're right. But you can't desert me--"  
  
"Gina, just listen!"  
  
"You wanna leave the lady alone, pig?" Lombardo stalked up to the table, already rolling up his sleeves.   
  
"Stay out of this, Lombardo," Marco said, "If you know what's good for you. This doesn't concern you."  
  
"Oh yeah? I think it does, and I'll be damned if I let your pig hands harm--" WHAM!  
  
Marco pulled his punch at the last moment before hitting the nose, but Lombardo stood frozen until his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backwards and landed with a crash. The scrape of chair legs on the wooden floor was loud. Behind them, the dozen or so other Air Pirates had already stood, uncertain as to whether they really wanted to fight Marco or not. He did, after all, just floored their boss with a single punch.  
  
"I warned you," Marco said, spitting on Lombardo, then turned back to Gina. "This isn't something I can exactly argue about, Gina. I gotta get going."  
  
Gina clenched her teeth and opened and closed her hands into tight fists. "Marco... If you really need to do this, then leave now," she said levelly, but in a strained voice. "But only-- only! -- if you promise to telegraph me from where ever the hell you wind up. I'll follow you, Marco, so help me God, so promise me this!"  
  
Marco took her hands into his, and pulled her near, then gave a light kiss on her forehead. "I can't promise you that, Gina," he whispered. "I'm an outlaw on the run, or so the government says. And what the government says goes. That's no life for you. I can't do that to you; I care about you too much." He winced as a tear welled up in Gina's eyes and then rolled down her cheek. "You've got too much going for you here."  
  
He let go of her hands and picked up his drink, raising it slightly towards her. "To Gina's Place," he said in hushed tones. "Where people forget their ties to the past and the present." Then he swigged the glass and returned it to the table.  
  
Gina did not watch him as he went past her silently, sullenly. Nor did she care when she heard his plane's engines roar into life, and, as he pulled away and into the Mediterranean night, fade away to nothing. She stood in place, ignoring the sympathetic stares and glances, and fought the tears that wanted to stream down her face.   
  
  
FIN 


End file.
